Epilogue for an Exile - Scoundrel's Luck
by DavestWriterDavidson
Summary: Set two years after the events of Knights of the Old Republic II, the Exile, Ramsi Tennet, has gone after Revan in the Unknown Regions and has left his companions behind- but what has become of them? And what happens to them when the Exile they were so attached to meets with destiny halfway across the galaxy?


_The Scoundrel's Luck_

Atton Rand's Story

_**Editor's Note: This is the second in a series of epilogues following the main characters set two years after the events of Knights of the Old Republic II. The order in which they should be read are Visas, Atton, Brianna, Mira, and Kreia, but feel free to peruse them at your own leisure. Safe travels, and good luck.**_

The howling winds signaled another approaching storm, the seventh one this month. The fact that he had kept count showed just how bored he'd become sitting around and waiting in the mountaintop facility that had become his home. What was he even waiting for again?

_Oh right, Ramsi's return._

With each week that passed, Atton Rand's doubts further furrowed his brow and weighed heavier on his mind. He was running out of things to do.

No, scratch that, he _had _run out of things to do.

Lackadaisically, he worked his fingers across the control panel and brought up the environmental shielding to keep the inside of the mountain warm.

Slowly, the numbers ticked up and up and he watched each one morph into the next, and then the next, and then the next until, finally, it reached its maximum and flashed across the screen in aurebesh telling him as much.

With the shield up, he couldn't even leave the base to see if Dol had any new jobs for him to do- unlikely as that would be, given that the smuggling Atton used to do for Citadel Station had been usurped by new Republic trade routes that had been established, which were overall faster and more convenient than one smuggler and a cobbled together, fourth-hand freighter.

Even playing pazaak had lost its appeal, regardless of whether it was in his head, with Mira, or even against that infuriatingly hard to read Zabrak.

So, Atton stood up and began the long walk to the main sparring area. Staying limber and keeping his skills honed to a sharper edge than an acklay's teeth had always been one of his priorities, but ever since Ramsi Tennet had left them high and dry to go on some fool's errand in the Unknown Regions it had become, essentially, his _only _priority.

On that note, where the hell even was he? Ramsi had only said he was leaving, but never gave a time he'd return. The last time they'd even spoke was after he'd gone to Coruscant, having given in to the pleas of T3-M4. It hadn't been a long conversation either, he'd seemed rushed and bothered- like he was on some sort of time limit. When Atton had jokingly ribbed him about it, all Ramsi had said was _"Jedi business, go back to your pazaak, Atton."_

Ramsi had always been up front with him, from the moment they'd sprung free of the deathtrap that was the Peragus mining facilities to the day the old witch betrayed them and took off towards Malachor. So for him to not even hint at what his mission was bothered Atton, because even Visas wouldn't tell him. It seemed like he was the only one _not_ in the know, and after all he'd done to help the group it felt like a real betrayal of trust.

Already, Atton could feel the spark of the dark side attempting to grow inside him, but he didn't extinguish it- not yet. One of the lessons Ramsi had passed on was to always assess and process their feelings, even if they leaned towards dark thoughts.

Atton may not have been entirely proud of his past, hunting and killing down Jedi more efficiently than anyone else among his elite assassins' unit, but the past two years had lead him towards a noble purpose in life and had allowed him to fulfill a debt to an old friend.

He'd flown through asteroid fields, fought past Sith fleets and planetary blockades, and had managed to get the _Ebon Hawk _off of Malachor V even in its ruined state. He'd followed Ramsi from Telos to Onderon, Korriban to Dantooine, and back again. When everybody was captured outside of an abandoned military base on Telos, _he _was the one who saved them by fighting his way down to his last holdout pistol through the mercenaries- even though he was hit around fifteen or more times by blaster fire and could barely stand in the end. On Nar Shaddaa, it was only because of _his _help that Ramsi had made it through the Refugee Sector and the Jekk'Jekk Tarr. Early on, _he _was the one helped to teach Ramsi a few tricks in keeping up his barriers- even if it was moreso out of suspicion of the old witch than true friendship at that point.

Now, _he _was the only one who didn't know what Ramsi was up to or when, or even if, he'd be back. It was frustrating beyond belief, and only compounded the annoyance and anger he felt being trapped in the Academy.

Exhaling a breath Atton hadn't even realized he'd been holding in, he extinguished the flame of the dark side and cleared his mind again.

Everything would be just fine, Ramsi would be back in another week or two and they could finally resume really rebuilding the Jedi Order.

Atton chuckled to himself and patted the metal cylinder at his hip to make sure it was still there.

Only a few years ago, if somebody had told him that he'd be a founding member of the New Jedi Order, he'd have run straight out of whatever bar he was slumming at in disbelief. These days, the idea was slowly becoming more believable. Maybe he wasn't on par with the likes of Revan or Lonna Vash, but he was a damn good Jedi who was extremely handy in a fight and even better if you needed a slicer. Regardless of what Ramsi wanted to implement, he'd make sure to leave his mark on the legacy of the Jedi Order.

Just as he entered the sparring area and began to size up which of the Sisters he would goad into a fight today, the air was knocked from his lungs and he was brought to his knees.

The world devolved into a high-pitched ringing that blinded him and made him want to claw his ears out. Instinctively, he began to list off the new set of hyperspace coordinates that the Republic had listed among their new trade route, along with the necessary power, speed, and calculations that would be needed to make each jump in a _Herald _-class freighter.

_Point three-four-six, mark seven-two, compensate for fluctuation and maintain ninety-three percent power in hyperdrive. Reset nav-computer for point four-two-one, mark five-five._

Quickly, the ringing descended and he felt his grip on reality return to him. Nevertheless, as he shakily stood back up, he continued to repeat the numbers in his mind.

… _Mark eight-two, cruise through Serenno sector, maintain course at point…_

On the fringes of his consciousness, he could hear Memora, Ramsi's daughter, screaming her head off. Even the mild-mannered and well-trained Echani Sisters were unbalanced by the child's cries, and ran off in several directions to find her.

Atton didn't have to search, he could feel her through the Force. She was in the Council Chambers, with Brianna and Mira, who were equally disturbed by whatever the hell had just happened. Grabbing hold of the wall, Atton forced himself forward through the halls towards them.

… _Compensate for failure through the Vahaba belt. Correct towards point one-four-nine. Angle past Halmad and towards G'wenee on point…_

When he finally did get there, it appeared he was the only calm one in the room, though through the haze of distress he couldn't take much note of it.

… _Refuel, reset for point three-two-zero, mark four-nine…_

Continuing to repeat the calculations in his head, he had passed the planet Er'Kit and was moving towards the agriworld of Genassa, he fumbled his way to Brianna and Memora, taking the baby in his arms and attempting to channel his energy in the Force towards her, the same way Visas had showed him. Strangely, he felt something cold begin to crawl up his spine- but it couldn't have been from outside, he'd already turned the thermal shielding on. What was he feeling?

… _Reset nav-computer for Ord Mantell jump, point two-one-one, mark…_

Moments later, Visas appeared, looking weak and frail. This was the first time he'd seen her without her strong gait and impenetrable will, only adding to Atton's growing stress. She took Memora from him, a blessing given how his efforts to calm her had been going.

_Finish at point zero-one-four, mark five-five-five, end trip, sell ship. _

Already moving on to playing pazaak in his head, Atton felt the air being drained from his lungs- despite him only exerting his mind, not his body.

"What happened?" Atton asked to nobody in particular, wanting to know just what exactly was going on.

Visas' head jolted up, her hood falling back to reveal the scarred wounds where her eyes used to be, and choked out an answer that burned Atton to his core and sent him spiraling down a hole that not even his scoundrel's luck could save him from.

"He's dead."


End file.
